


Cornerstone

by dhyanshiva



Series: Fortress [1]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25880470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhyanshiva/pseuds/dhyanshiva
Summary: How King Kartik and Aman first met, 3 summers before the events of 'Walls'.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: Fortress [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878028
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	Cornerstone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HackedByAWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HackedByAWriter/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Sargun aka Emerald aka the Smith to my Holland. I love you more than I can express.  
> You're incredible and I won't ever let you forget this indisputable fact.
> 
> Much love,  
> Dhyan
> 
> "The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all." - Mulan, 1998

Kartik Singh couldn’t desist from adjusting the scabbard at his waist yet again as he waited at the gates of the palace grounds. As if sensing his apprehension, his horse, Aswad, whinnied softly. Reflexively, Kartik reached out to run a hand over his back. The texture was familiar, comforting, distracting. He couldn’t help but smile - his wonderful companion had come to his aid once more without Kartik having said a single word. Hearing the doors open behind him, he turned to greet his advisor and confidant, Ravi. This was Kartik’s first engagement since ascending the throne a few months ago and he was incredibly thankful to have his friend accompanying him. The transition had taken place seemingly overnight and Kartik was still reeling from his father’s passing. The responsibility of his beloved kingdom and its people had been passed onto him and he hardly knew how to shoulder it. Yet, with Ravi and the others by his side, guiding him through uncertain waters, Kartik was certain he could overcome the initial impediments and rebuild Khiar, make it feel more like home.

The sun had barely risen as the pair mounted their horses and left for the neighbouring kingdom, Farid, where the wedding was to take place. Much like Kartik, Ishaan had only recently been coronated, though he was fortunate to have had his father mentor him to the best of his capabilities before passing. Nonetheless, years had gone by and Kartik looked forward to meeting his friend on this auspicious occasion. As they rode, he listened attentively as Ravi explained the rituals of these ceremonies to him. It was detailed and their discussion made the time fly by. On nearing the outermost walls of the kingdom, Ravi took to showing him the different crests of the chariots that stood on either side of the winding path. Seeing that so many were in attendance made the coil of nervousness tighten in Kartik’s stomach.

Trying not to let the mask of cool indifference slip, he turned to Ravi and nodded. In one swift motion, they dismounted their horses and made their way towards the palace. The poorly concealed bewilderment of the stable boy hadn’t escaped his notice as they’d had given him the reins. The question was obvious: why hadn’t he arrived in a chariot? Kartik had toyed with the idea but had eventually decided not to for one reason alone. He wasn’t his father. There was enough notoriety attached to his dynasty thanks to Jagvir Singh and he aimed to break away from those associations. The colours of their crest - a rich burgundy and gold - would come to mean something great. He’d make sure of that even if it cost him his life.

The first step towards that would be behaving contrary to expectation. Jagvir wouldn’t have thought to make the relatively short journey on horseback, no. Come hell or high water, he wouldn’t pass on the opportunity to display his wealth, his splendour, his name. Jagvir was all about appearances. He had cared little that his actions, his habits at home had been rapidly depleting Khiar of its glory. However, even in these few months, Kartik hadn’t been able to escape the notorious rumour mill of this land either. He’d happened on the ends of too many whispered conversations between the servants and guards alike for it to be a mistake. Why his activities beyond the courtroom were anyone else’s business was something he was yet to understand and Kartik knew he’d be faced with undercurrents of the same here too. Yet, he was unprepared for the way the hum of noise fell silent as they entered the vast hall only for it to become louder as the talk became more frantic. Fixated on Kartik Singh and oh surely, that’s his lover? How disgraceful, how un-

Ravi sensed his unease and touched his wrist briefly, knowing he would reach for his scabbard. In a low tone, he continued his explanation of the attendees. At his nonchalance, Kartik relaxed slightly. Anyone with their wits about them would know who Ravi was to him. At a royal wedding, it was either the consort or head advisor that accompanied a monarch, for a union of this kind had both personal and political impact. And they stood accordingly, which meant that Ravi being on his right side said more than enough. How dare they? Once again, Ravi pulled him out of his thoughts, breaking away from the one sided introductions.

“Kartik, breathe. It’s alright. You and I both know that all of this is baseless. Don’t rise to the bait, don’t let them win. At any rate, the fact that you don’t feed into the mill already makes you better than them. Okay?”

The young king nodded gratefully, the words working wonders on the whirlwind in his mind. Seamlessly, Ravi returned to the introductions and he was getting to the heart of the room when Kartik heard his name called out from the entrance. Turning, he smiled involuntarily at who he saw. Queen Regent Fida of Tauqeed and her husband- on her left side - were making their way towards them. Neither cared for the glances thrown their way - Fida in particular would not be hindered by all this meaningless noise. She embraced him without hesitation, tightening her hold imperceptibly and pulled away a moment later. Kartik believed she was the older sister he never had, her wisdom and kindness, her unconditional love guiding him through the lowest points of his life thus far. She’d been by his side in times of joy too, helping him at every turn. He likely wouldn’t have made it to adulthood without her guidance and support.

Tonight, she looked beautiful and commanded the attention of everyone in the room. Her usually haggard expression was replaced by one of pure joy and Kartik was glad that at least one person was glad to see him here. The combination of intricate designs in a glorious green set against a black backdrop was simply ethereal. Her braid came down to her midriff and the escape of a few curled strands made her look fierce and beautiful in equal measure.

There seemed to be a storm brewing in her eyes at all times, but it did not inspire fear in Kartik for he knew it was baseless. She could not help that so much power was contained in those dark irises, framed by heavy brows that were furrowed in concentration as she observed him now. A few moments passed and he saw a question there. A brief flicker to assess those who surrounded them, a promise to bring a storm down had anyone behaved disrespectfully. Kartik smiled reassuringly, hoping it convinced her enough. For a few moments, she appeared unconvinced until he reached out and clasped her forearm. The touch appeared to reassure Fida, for a spark of light came into her eyes and she smiled at them, volumes of mirth making her eyes sparkle - the storm had abated, for now. They conversed on insignificant matters for a few moments - Kartik was glad his smile could be genuine for now - till Ravi nudged him again. Pointedly, he reverted to helping him identify everyone. At long last - a brief diversion included - they came to the figures stood at the far end of the hall and it was then that time seemed to come to a standstill.

Aman Tripathi stood in the entrance hall, partially obscured by an ornate pillar. The crowd paid him no mind, but he observed each monarch as they conversed with one another in the interlude to the ceremony. His father’s confidant and head advisor Chandrakaal stood next to him. Aman had tuned him out a few minutes into the monologue he now knew by heart. Still, he feigned attentiveness. Shankar Tripathi had fallen ill only months before and had been forced to comply with the physician’s orders of complete bed rest. He had been in no shape to attend this ceremony which meant the responsibility had fallen to the shoulders of Prince Regent Aman Tripathi He was here today in his father’s stead, as Chandrakaal had taken to reminding him at every opportunity. They were closely allied to the kingdom of Azraq, home of the bride, Swara. Her father and his were the oldest of friends. Aman knew he had a personal duty to his father to conduct himself well, to make him prouder than he had in years. Chandrakaal, however, saw this as an opportunity to strengthen Bhuj’s hold over the other kingdoms. Nothing new there.

He was not to disgrace the great Shankar Tripathi’s name. He was to pay attention to all of these people, converse with them, introduce himself to them. Begin to understand them from this occasion onward, as a Prince, such that he could manipulate them when he became King. The older man never failed to evoke feelings of shame and disgust for himself within Aman. The instructions this time were no exception. He was certain the man would leave no stone unturned to get what he wanted - the gleam in his beady eyes always sent chills down his spine and today, it was brighter, more manic than usual.

A vice like grip on his right arm startled him out of his thoughts. His face must have given him away, though Aman was sure he’d hidden his disinterest well. He could almost feel the pressure of those bony fingers through the heavy sherwani. Knuckles white against the teal and fuchsia sleeve, the expression on Chandrakaal’s face was positively murderous. Aman knew without a shadow of doubt that if they were any place but here, the disapproval wouldn’t be so heavily veiled. It would be vitriol, the words spat at him, making him flinch. Making Aman feel less than a foot tall over and over. Yet again, he was forced to look his ‘mentor’ in the eye as he spoke, enunciating each syllable. A loud exclamation of joy cut Chandrakaal off and he glared at the source in annoyance. The distraction meant his grip had loosened and Aman took the opportunity to wrench his arm free, adjusting the garment inconspicuously.

In all of this, he’d missed the entrance of quite a few people and going by the density of the crowd, he assumed everyone was present. A sudden wave of apprehension overcame Aman. How was he to manage himself amidst all this? He hadn’t approached a single person from the crowd yet and he could feel Chandrakaal’s glare boring into his skull. Instead of taking in the scene before him, he chose to look down at his hands, wringing his hands, barely able to keep the tremors at bay. Though it was impossible, Aman thought he heard someone call out his name and he looked up, only to lock gazes with the impossibly beautiful man standing at the opposite side of the hall.

Ravi swore he’d seen the chariot from Bhuj at the entrance. Since arriving in this hall, however, he hadn’t caught sight of Shankar Tripathi or his advisor Chandrakaal. This realisation troubled him for a few moments till he recalled something he had heard only in passing. The monarch had fallen ill, and the only logical conclusion would be that he wouldn’t be here today. King Shankar and the late Jagvir Singh had never been on the best of terms, constantly trying to outwit one another in all possible matters. Ravi had heard from his grandfather that in his day, the relationship between Bhuj and Khiar could have been considered cordial. Today, though, they were on the grounds of mutual hostility. Beside him, Kartik was in conversation with Queen Fida’s husband. He turned to address them when a figure on the opposite side of the hall caught his eye.

Kartik turned as Ravi cleared his throat from beside him and something in his expression made him listen in rapt attention.

“I’d expected to see Shankar Tripathi here, but I believe he’s bedridden due to an unknown illness. I know you’ve heard more than enough from your father about him and his kingdom. Well, that’s his son, Aman, with his father’s advisor. It’s only fitting that he’s here, as Prince Regent of Bhuj.”

\---- --- ---

As if he’d heard Ravi say his name from all the way here, Aman Tripathi looked up and Kartik just caught on to the tail end of Ravi’s sentence ‘Prince Regent of Bhuj’ before his voice faded completely. Simply put, the man was beautiful. It was quite literally the first thought to come to the forefront of his mind. It was Aman’s eyes that locked him in his place, well and truly enchanted. The world around them seemed to fall away and it was just them. The other man didn’t look away so why should he? Kartik made to approach him, only for sounds of the dhol and shehnai to begin ringing through the air, transforming the murmurs into a chorus of excited chatter. The monarchs and their companions made their way to the raised platform where the wedding ceremony was to be conducted. Kartik was forced to look away as he was swept away by Fida and Ravi, soon losing Aman in the crowd.

The setup was truly breath-taking and Kartik believed Ravi hadn’t been able to do it justice with his description. The guests for this were to line up on either side of the platform and look up at the proceedings. The platform was in the middle of a lake and the diyas floating upon the surface of the water between it and the onlookers made the auspicious occasion unforgettable - it felt ethereal. Kartik, Ravi and the other attendees whose political alliance leant in Farid’s favour stood on the left and those closely allied to Azraq stood on the right. It made Kartik indescribably happy to see that Aman had come to stand directly opposite him. He looked distinctly uncomfortable to be in the midst of so many strangers and Kartik tried to smile reassuringly. Aman gave him the smallest smile in response. Reassured, he shifted his attention up to the platform as the ceremony began.

The betrothed couple were to climb up to stand on either side of the ring. The circle contained a star with 8 points, 4 in the darkest blue - for Swara’s kingdom, Azraq. The other 4 were a vibrant shade of orange - for Farid - much like the skies upon which the sun had just set. The bride and groom were to stand on opposite ends and take a step to the next point on the star for each of the 7 vows of marriage they made to one another, eventually coming to a stop at the point they had begun. Undoubtedly, the symbolism of the ceremony was beautiful, as were the couple themselves. In ordinary circumstances, Kartik would have given them his undivided attention. Tonight, however, he found himself that his focus was on the man standing opposite him.

Aman Tripathi was an angel, of that he was certain. Stood beneath the glimmering chandeliers, the man had been beautiful. Under the moonlight, however, with the diyas casting a glow on his face, he was simply divine. His brown eyes had become a beautiful shade of gold that reminded Kartik with a starling degree of clarity of the glorious fields back home where he’d spent countless hours with his mother before her passing. Now, under the negligence of his father, they were barren, and it made his heart bleed to see them reduced to this. The teal of his sherwani - the pairing of that with fuchsia made for a beautiful crest - had become a stunning shade of blue, reminding him of the cloudless skies that overlooked those very fields - the vision made his heart stop for a moment. He didn’t expect it to be so glorious. For it was as if with her passing, all the beauty of the world around him had been stripped away. The memories too, had become devoid of colour, of light. Looking into this man’s eyes however, Kartik felt the flame of hope, of belief in beauty, in goodness come alive again. He felt happy, an emotion he believed he would never experience so strongly ever again. For that alone, he owed this man his life.

Aman felt the tides of unease recede at the kind smile the stranger sent him and his shoulders relaxed slightly. He looked up to see the priest pour spoonfuls of ghee into the havan at regular intervals. However, his gaze was drawn back to the man opposite him and found himself unable to look away. Under the moonlight, his features took on an otherworldly beauty. The burgundy and gold of his sherwani looked exquisite on his form and the light of multiple diyas made his nose ring look much like a twinkling star. His dark eyes sparkled, and Aman truly believed they mapped a constellation of their own. Where he would have shied away at the curious gaze of a stranger - Aman could never discern if it was of appraisal or scrutiny - he found that he didn’t quite mind this. It made him feel warm and.. comforted? Before he could ponder any further, a sharp elbow to his side forced him to tear his gaze away from the other man’s. Chandrakaal’s low, scathing tone, words uttered in a hiss, pulled him back down to reality with such force that he jolted in shock.

“Can you focus on the wedding ceremony, Aman? Ignore that.. man. Truthfully, I wouldn’t even call Kartik Singh a -”

Aman didn’t know where the flood of hatred came from - he’d never felt it so strongly before. Quite certainly never when Chandrakaal’s vitriol was directed at him, let alone a complete stranger. But he let it loosen his tongue, uninhibit him if only for a few moments. The courage to cut his disgraceful insinuation short came from frustration at the intense shame that this man had made Aman feel for close to a decade and he couldn’t bear to hear it once more, especially here. He never understood the need to indulge in such meaningless talk. Not that the old man was above such things, but still. Aman considered knowing things like boundaries a measure of personal decency. Just why did Chandrakaal consider it pertinent what a king did to occupy his time beyond the courtroom?

“Does it look like your opinion was something I wanted to hear, _sir_? I don’t care for your implications and so far as I’ve seen, he’s done nothing at all to evoke this. Kartik hasn’t said a single word to you, so what makes you think you can - ”

Aman broke off, overwhelmed by the tidal waves of guilt and shame that swept through him, the flame of bravado vanishing in a puff of smoke. So brief it had been that Aman would’ve believed it to be imaginary, a manifestation of the burning urge he felt most times to silence this man. Yet, the surprise was clear in the way his eyebrows had risen, the narrowing of beady eyes that roamed over every inch of his face. Swiftly, he averted his gaze, knowing if Chandrakaal saw fear in his eyes, he would be ridiculed and that it would under. Only to be trapped in the puzzled look that the man, Kartik, was sending him.

It was beyond impossible that he had heard any of this but from the way Chandrakaal had spoken indicated to Aman that such malicious bruit on the topic Kartik Singh’s private life was commonplace. Hence, he believed an apology was in order. Looking back on it, he could recall the way silence had overcome the gathering in the hall only for the talk to become louder. Chandrakaal had occupied him then but he was certain that it had been the result of Kartik Singh’s entrance. Now, he stood between his advisor and Her Majesty Fida of Tauqeed. It seemed to Aman that they were warding him as best as they could from the scrutiny of the other guests. He smiled apologetically but Kartik seemed to misinterpret it for his brow furrowed and a shadow descended on his face. Aman couldn’t hope to make his expression any clearer and was acutely aware of Chandrakaal’s glare almost searing a hole through his temple.

Knowing he was on the verge of tears - inexplicably so - Aman tore his eyes away and focused on the last moments of the wedding ceremony. He remained resolute and a few moments later, felt the weight of Kartik’s stare disappear. He felt strangely bereft without it and it was only the training drilled into him that kept the mask of indifference in place now. Aman couldn’t afford to let his disappointment show, especially now. He watched in silence as the couple exchanged garlands and joined the rest of the crowd as they showered the beaming pair with flower petals.

Ravi utilised the opportunity of this ceremony to observe Prince Aman. He hadn’t yet met Aman but something about his countenance, the way he held himself, made him seem completely different to his father. Different in the same way that Kartik was nothing like Jagvir Singh. It wasn’t all Chandrakaal’s doing, of course, the worsening of Bhuj and Khiar’s relationship. Shankar Tripathi’s views were only bolstered by his advisor. Jagvir was no different in that respect, he noted with amusement. Ravi held firm to this newfound belief that together, these two young men could turn the tides, mend rifts and pave the way for a brighter future. In his peripheral vision, he noticed that Kartik’s focus was less on the proceedings and more on the prince in question. He watched as Kartik’s brow furrowed and spared a glance at the pair opposite them. Chandrakaal appeared to have said something Aman disagreed with vehemently and Kartik’s reaction to observing the same pushed him to clear the air.

Kartik saw Aman’s advisor turn slightly to tell him something. He watched as Aman stiffened and it was only because his gaze was fixed on the man that he noticed the clenching of his jaw and fist, ring glinting sharply in the light. The older man must have noticed Aman’s distraction and Ravi’s insight on him proved to be invaluable.

“His name is Chandrakaal, and my father didn’t much like him. Neither do I, for that matter. Bapu was of the belief that Shankar Tripathi would have been better off without this man’s influence. He appeared in court shortly before Aman’s birth and gained his trust seemingly overnight. You’d do well to steer clear of him.”

The way Aman retaliated, the barely restrained anger, the way Chandrakaal reacted to his response, it spoke volumes. The way the younger man seemed to retreat into himself. The Aman whose eyes met his once more had changed within moments. Kartik wasn’t convinced by the smile he gave him and the way he tore his gaze away? He was certain now, that something had gone wrong. Barely able to hold back a sigh, he shifted his attention back to the ceremony.

Moments after the garland exchange, the ceremony came to an end and the crowd made their way to the dining hall. They were a few hours left until sunrise now and it was customary for the newlyweds and the guests to break their fast before then. However, after only a few mouthfuls, Kartik found he could not consume any more and refused the offer for another serving. Looking up, he scanned the other rows only to find that Aman was no longer next to Chandrakaal. He finished the rest of the prasad before rising and leaving the hall. Inexplicably, he found himself drawn to the vast gardens. Though he hadn’t visited Farid since he was a child, Kartik found himself at the path leading to them within minutes. He was about to open the gate when a slight movement from somewhere above him caught his attention. Even at this distance, he was certain that the man standing on the balcony was none other than Aman Tripathi. This area was deserted, and he was glad that it was so - the opportunity it provided was too good to let go of.

\---- --- ---

Aman stood with his forearms resting against the railing, a distant look on his face. He’d set his turban aside and Kartik was spellbound by the dance of his tousled strands in the gentle breeze. At this distance, he saw a teal stud earring in his right ear that contributed to making Aman’s profile all the more beautiful and Kartik was hesitant to draw attention to himself. He hadn’t noticed Kartik yet and it made him smile despite the concern - what had gotten him so preoccupied? Ordinarily, one would be drawn to the pond at the heart of the garden and the ducklings milling about on the surface of the water. Aman, however, appeared to be in a world of his own. Kartik made his presence known with a small cough and it brought Aman out of his thoughts with a startled cry. Alarmed, they glanced down in unison to see that his right index finger had begun to bleed. The pinprick of blood soon became a line trailing down towards his palm, its colour bright and unforgiving against Aman’s skin.

Without a second thought, Kartik took Aman’s hand in his and reached for the salve tucked away in the pocket of his sherwani with the other. It wasn’t that he was bleeding profusely but the sight of it made Kartik’s stomach turn - he couldn’t bear to see him injured. The offender was a large silver ring that sat on his finger, a few tips of the ring now stained with Aman’s blood. The priority was to get that removed, so he’d be able to see the cut it had caused. A hissed intake of breath when he tried pulling it off meant that he’d have to figure out another method. Something about it on Aman’s finger seemed out of place - as if it wasn’t his at all. In all of this, Kartik hadn’t let go of the other man’s hand, not that he’d noticed and pulled away.

Pulling Aman’s hand closer, Kartik saw what the issue was, and he winced in spite of himself, The ring itself was digging into his finger and Aman must’ve shifted it about too much for it had cut through the skin. Kartik managed to pull at one end and on applying some force, it became wider, enabling him to remove it from his finger. The ring itself was quite heavy, surprisingly and he placed it on the railing before returning his attention to the wound. Letting go, he unscrewed the top of the small box and got some salve on his finger. The box and ring sat side by side as Kartik covered the cut with the paste. He had to thank Maran for ensuring he equipped himself with the salve and bandages for every occasion. His trusty physician knew Kartik better than he knew himself and his insight had proved invaluable once more.

Aman was rendered speechless as Kartik took hold of his hand. The action had been instantaneous, and he almost pulled away in shock as a shiver ran down his spine at the contact. Unknowingly, he’d stepped closer and the tips of their footwear were almost touching. An unfamiliar yet comforting warmth had begun to arise from where their hands met and he was spellbound by the man in front of him. The tenderness with which he worked was unfamiliar to Aman. Had it been anyone else in his position, the ring would have been forced off his finger, uncaring for the pain it would cause him. Not that anyone in Bhuj would think to do so - they would merely work around it. But this stranger had shown him this consideration as if it were second nature and it made his chest ache slightly. It felt terribly cruel, to have met him once only to never meet again. Aman Tripathi was no fool: the brooch on his advisor’s chest told him all he needed to know. They were meant to be sworn enemies and this meeting may as well have not happened at all. They hadn’t spoken a word, yet Aman knew he would remember these moments till his dying day. Seeing Kartik reach for his own handkerchief pulled him out of his thoughts, however.

“Oh! Kartik - I mean - well, don’t soil your cloth unnecessarily!”

The taller man spared Aman a glance and a small smile before ignoring him to attend to his wound meticulously. A few moments later, his finger was bandaged and Kartik let go. Immediately, he longed to reach out and touch him once more but the sight of his ring glinting in the moonlight out of the corner of his eye made him rein in these treacherous thoughts. No. He had to remember who he was, and it caused a shiver to run down his spine. This one, however, made him cringe and pull away from Kartik. As he reached for the ring, the other man reached for the salve and Aman flinched as their hands brushed past one another in the process. Still, he lifted the ring and closed his hand over it, ignoring the bloodstains as best he could. Aman couldn’t believe it was this heavy and didn’t realise he had said this aloud until Kartik spoke and he couldn’t hide the blush of mortification that crept onto his face.

“If it hurts you so, why do you continue to wear it?”

Kartik’s bewilderment grew as Aman’s gaze snapped up to meet his. The look in his eyes was indecipherable and he didn’t know what to make of it. Had he really never considered taking it off once in a while? Or getting it resized, at least? Quite rapidly, he found himself getting lost in those warm brown eyes of his so switched his focus to the man’s shoulder. The prolonged silence was making Kartik nervous and he feared meeting his eyes once more, lest he see anger once more - this time directed at him. That flame in his eyes had transformed the Prince of Bhuj completely and it had taken him aback. That he received a response for the frankly impertinent question was surprising enough. What caught his attention was the weariness in his tone, the way he whispered it, as if unafraid to truly say the words. Scared of damnation, of judgement, of ridicule. It broke his heart and seeking to comfort the other man, he reached out to clasp his hand. This time, Aman didn’t flinch and Kartik saw no reason to withdraw his hand.

“I don’t know anything else. This is who I am, who I’m supposed to be. I’ve worn that ring from the day I turned 15. It’s been passed down over generations and it fit them all perfectly well. I didn’t see reason to bring any attention to it - in the larger scheme of things, a little discomfort on my part means nothing and - ”

Aman cut the sentence short at that, afraid his emotions would get the best of him. Inexplicably, he found himself sharing with the man how torturous he’d found this engagement, considering Chandrakaal had been hounding his every move. Aman found the explanation for the incident during the ceremony had come forth without the other man prompting him. But Aman believed he deserved an apology. He hadn’t thought to consider the effect Chandrakaal’s vitriol would have on him. How little Aman had done in retaliation. What would Kartik think of him now? As discreetly as he could, he tried to pull his hand away, only for the king’s grip to tighten. It wasn’t forceful in the least, but it confused him. Looking up, he saw that Kartik’s earnest gaze hadn’t wavered in the least. Aman searched his face for signs of amusement and found none. He wasn’t judging Aman for what he’d just dared to say. A few moments later, Kartik pulled away and leaned away from him. Oh. Was this all a ruse then?

Kartik tightened his grip over Aman’s hand as he tried to pull away. It wasn’t difficult to see that the admission had shaken Aman to the core. He was in awe of this man. How could he shoulder so much and not stumble? Kartik couldn’t begin to imagine how taxing it must be. His chest ached on hearing the despair and guilt in his voice as he explained the cause of his anger. Why had he done so? Why had he put himself under further scrutiny for the sake of a stranger? However, where he should have been defiant and proud, Aman seemed defeated. Kartik saw only one way to remedy that. That the prince had trusted him with something so personal touched him. It was only fair that Kartik put the same faith in him. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t dare to do this, but Aman seemed different from the rest, above them all. He wouldn’t judge him, of that Kartik was certain. Not giving himself time to overthink this, he pulled away.

The change in Aman at this action would’ve gone unnoticed if he were not the sole focus of Kartik’s attention and it only strengthened his resolve. Slowly, he unpinned the ‘normal’ nose ring and put it in his pocket. In doing so, he made contact with his most precious possession. Quietly, he pulled it out and pinned it into place, his eyes fixed on the man in front of him the whole time. Without his turban, set aside on a panel behind them, beside Aman’s own, it was easier to access the pin clipped into the same place as always. Muscle memory sped up the process and within moments, Kartik felt more comfortable than he’d felt since leaving his chambers in Khiar. Aman appeared to be transfixed by the motif of the tiles beneath their feet. Clearing his throat, Kartik waited for him to look up.

Aman thought Kartik had walked away, left him and so was surprised beyond measure to discover that he had stayed. Even after seeing him like this, in this pitiful state. He had been determined not to watch him walk away for he knew Kartik would leave the pieces of Aman’s heart in his wake. When he looked up however, that same treacherous heart began to race at the vision that stood before him. The breeze had done quick work of his hair, making it unruly and oh so soft. Aman had been mistaken, previously. The nose ring he’d worn all this while had been replaced by one that transformed him completely. The silver one had been smaller, not drawing attention to itself. This one was magnificent, and Aman was transfixed. This nath was in the colours of his kingdom’s crest, the tassels of the ring a stunning gold. The chain pinned into his hair was simpler and resembled the embellishments of an anklet. Bringing the parts together was a flower pin, its centre a rich burgundy that matched the bead that was at the centre of the ring, hanging just below the tassels

Kartik wore it with pride. Aman could understand, somewhat, why he hadn’t donned this one throughout. It would only add to the scorn and this wasn’t the time and place for gossip. Aman's heart sank at the thought that Kartik believed the onus was on him. That he had to change to quell the hurricane. That he had to make himself feel uncomfortable in order to make the others feel secure, not the other way around. Forgetting what he was holding, Aman’s fist clenched in anger and he cried out as his own ring dug into the softer skin of his palm. Wordlessly, Kartik reached out and prised the fist open.

\---- --- ---

Aman watched as Kartik picked up his ring, set it on the railing and placed the smaller nose ring beside it. He seemed to be in deep contemplation, a thumb rubbing back and forth over the black and silver ring on his index finger. Apprehension met a burst of courage as he reached out and took Kartik’s hand, linking their fingers together. The taller man’s eyes met his, surprise and affection evident in his gaze.

The sight of their burdens in front of them - figuratively, of course - made the pair realise just how heavy they had been. Without them, Kartik’s smile reached his eyes and Aman didn’t seem to fold into himself. The smile on his face as they conversed was so beautiful it made Kartik’s heart race. The conversation gradually reached more light-hearted territory and they spent the rest of the little time they had in an exchange of question and answer. With each response, Kartik’s affection for Aman only grew and he dreaded the sunrise that was creeping closer with every passing second. As the sun emerged over the horizon, they’d reached the 20th question and it was to be their last. In the distance, Kartik could hear horses’ whinnies and charioteers' calls as the guests began to make their way to the exit gates of the palace. He felt Aman tense next to him and knew it was time.

Kartik turned away and picked up his own turban. It pained him to see the wariness on his face. Stepping forward, he halted his reaching for the nath by touching his hand. Silently, he unpinned it for him as Kartik reached for the pin in his hair. The smaller nose ring on his face looked wrong now, out of place and with its return, Aman saw everything about the way Kartik carried himself change. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly and he missed the sparkle immediately. He didn’t notice Kartik had reached for his ring till it had slid it onto the index finger of his uninjured hand. That it was resting on the wrong hand served to make it seem even more out of place, especially now. They helped one another with their turbans and now they stood as King Kartik and Prince Regent of Bhuj. No longer just Kartik and Aman and neither knew when they’d be able to be so once more.

After a few moments of delaying the inevitable, he took Aman’s hand and the prince didn’t have the heart to tell the distraught man that his grip was a little too fierce. It broke his heart to see that the warmth in those beautiful eyes had been replaced by profound sadness. Together, they left the balcony and made their way back towards gates of the palace. Just as they were about to make the last turn, Kartik tightened his grip and it prompted Aman to take his other hand too. Kartik seemed hesitant to speak but Aman waited - after all, this was their first and last meeting.

“You must have noticed Fida standing by my side during the ceremony. You know, I’m certain, of the ridicule she and her husband faced as a consequence of their decision to wed. I’m a lot like them in that respect and many do not know what to make of her defiance and unfaltering courage. I’ve known her for 15 years now. I’ve seen her face many adversities in that period and though she was brought close to ruin all too many times, Fida always found a way to return stronger than ever before. I recall asking her once, how she managed this. What she told me then, the key to her courage, has become my mantra. I can never forget I must not let fear inhibit me and that the fearless live for forever. If I live by this always, I will not die before the time our Maker has chosen for me.”

The smile that graced Kartik’s face was one of confidence, reassuring and hopeful. Aman knew then that this was not goodbye, but a promise of a future. With one last squeeze of the hand, they let go and parted ways. Aman couldn’t help but look back to see him go and to see that Kartik had done the same made him smile more than he had in months.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece has a playlist that's 20 songs long and it's amazing, if i do say myself :)


End file.
